Taste of Promise
by muldahhh
Summary: "I don't have a choice but I still choose you." Sansa comes to meet Sandor on the Quiet Isle. With the Hound buried and past still around them, it's time to see how they have changed since Blackwater.


**Disclaimer:** I do not own anything or anyone in this fanfiction.

**Spoilers**: up to A Dance with Dragons.

**Rating**: T, in case.

**A/N: **I wanted to write some SanSan for a long time, so here you go. Sandor isn't dead (because the fuck, I refuse to believe it) and Sansa comes on the Quiet Isle to meet him again.

Don't read if you haven't read A Dance with Dragons!

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**TASTE OF PROMISE  
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She comes on the Quiet Isle when it starts to snow, shortly after noon. It's good to have a long and warm coat, a grey one, with a hood, so her face remains hidden when she speaks with one of Silent Brothers. He takes her to Elder one, about who they say he has powers as a healer.

"There was someone looking for you, my lady," he says when they come into one of small, wooden houses. "Not that long ago."

Sansa takes off the hood. "I know."

"Did she find you? It seemed really important to her."

"Unfortunately, she did not."

_What happened to you, lady Brienne of Tarth_? She often thought about fate of that she-knight she had never met, who was looking for her in the whole Westeros. All of it because of a vow.

When they sit down, Silent Brother starts, "I think I know why you are here, my lady."

"So I don't have to explain this complicated case? Nice."

The man almost rolls his eyes. "You don't have to. Not to me, you motives aren't my worry. But I would like to remind you, it's the Quiet Isle. Brothers who choose living here reject their voices as the way of communicating with world."

The girl sighs, and answers, "You can write him a note, if you really want to."

"I don't think it'll be necessary." She can say, he evaluates her. "But you know that he doesn't have to want to speak with you. I feel like the man you're looking for died. I even buried him."

"And I don't think you can be so sure who I want to see. I'll wait here."

He takes a bottle of… wine? It seems so, and two cups, and puts them on a table between them.

"If it's your will, I wish you were right. One of should be here in a few minutes."

So when he leaves, she waits, questions herself once again – _why I am here_? But even if nothing will come out of this, she needs to try, and see him, yes, she owes him that. Sansa remembers that night when sky burned green and sang a song of steel and blood. It was a last time they saw each other. How different he's now? And she? All the people she has been, so many lies she has said…

Then the doors open again, and she turns her head to see who fate sends her.

Sandor looks strange, but at the same time – familiar. He seems more neat and modest, as the Silent Brother should, and after the way he comes into the room, his attitude changed as well. It's more calm and slow, it doesn't fill the air with hatred and anger… it rather makes her think of a cold, but silent crypts.

She takes her breath, with a surprising feeling of... relief.

"I thought you were dead,'" she says finally.

"Well, you were not the only one, then," he answers, gently, what sounds weird, hearing his rough, low voice. "But here you are, anyway. Visiting an old friend, aye?"

"You can say so." Her lips are marbled, like she was the one who doesn't speak often. She can hear wind blowing over the empty lands, outside. "Things have changed."

"Since we have last seen each other? They have." He shakes his head, looking at her. "You grew up."

It's funny, but she blushes a little. "I can't be a child, little naïve child forever."

"But you still are."

Now she is angry; her hand knocks the table, like they were in a tavern. "I'm a queen. A queen in the North. Some respect wouldn't mind."

He isn't surprised by her reaction. It feels like a cold, awful truth. _That's who I am_, she reminds herself silently. _No hard feelings for the past, but here I am, now, this way_.

"Do I call you 'Your Grace', then?" Sandor seems amused, like he plays with her, checks how he changed. He takes a sit by the other side of table and opens the bottle.

"No, you don't." She sighs. "Just… like I said. Things are different now."

His hand takes a cup from the table. "Drink," he says. "It's a hot wine. It will make you feel better."

Sansa tastes from her cup – indeed, hot and a bit bitter.

"So, you are married now, I suppose? Who's the husband?" Suddenly, his mouth trembles, shadow falls upon his face. She can see a flash of the Hound. "I don't mean the dwarf, of course."

Once again, she thinks how much changed. _Where are you, Tyrion_? But then again, he married lady Sansa Stark, daughter of lord Eddard. Not the queen. So many people in one body.

"There was planned a wedding," she answers; hair tickling her cheek, "but for some reasons, it didn't happen."

"Queen without a king, then?"

"As for now, yes."

They sit silent, only with a sound of the wind in their ears. It troubles her to ask about it, but she can't help herself.

"You've been traveling with Arya…" _My sister_ can't go through her throat. "You've seen, been… in the Twins, back then."

He makes a face. "You still didn't ask a question."

"Could you tell me about it?" Words come out of her mouth, her voice breaks at the end, but her hands are still unmoved, holding the cup.

"That's for what you came here, girl? The man who saw these things, took a part… is dead. And I would prefer not to bring him back."

She looks directly in his eyes. Maybe it's just time that passed, but she isn't afraid of his face anymore. Things have changed. "I'm sorry. But I need to know."

"You know."

"I want to hear it from you."

Here they are, in a poor room on the Quiet Isle, with winter and past all around them. Sandor bends to her, she can see his struggle, fight with the old memories. _I mean it. He changed_.

When he decides to answer, his voice is like a whisper of a dead man, and for a second, Sansa regrets pushing him back to those times. "If you really want to, I will tell you."

_Do I? _

"Not today."

He sits straight now; tension fades away of his face. Relief. Of course.

"As you wish," he says, and stands up. "If you don't mind, I would like to come back to my work…"

_Here we go_, she thinks, and stops him, with a hand.

"Actually, I still didn't say why I am here."

The man raises his eyebrows, and slowly sits again. "You didn't? So, go ahead."

"I want to re-take the North."

She often thought how to say it, which words use._ I'm a queen, and I need people to go with me, even if it's just a fool's hope_. How Robb achieved so much? But after all, these words come out of her mouth, every time when she spokes about it. It sounds so simple, so nice, like a child's wish.

"Re-take the North, aye." She can swear, he smiles, kind of ironically, but not cruel, as he used to. "After all, a queen without a land isn't a true queen, is she?"

Sansa isn't sure why, but she tells him everything that matters. Not all; most of time she just stands the facts and suspicions, but also she shares with him her doubts and fears, in this cold place. It feels like some weight was taken off from her shoulders.

"I need your help," she says at the end.

Now, he laughs. "Mine help? Not trying to be mean, but from what I heard, you have an army, little, but loyal, and you're almost sure to have more."

"I do. Mostly Arryn's people." She feels like a blind man, taking a step in the darkness. "But I miss here someone who I could trust… entirely."

This time, Sandor remains silent for a while. She starts to regret she didn't take warmer gloves; her hands are cold like a clear stone.

"Correct me, if I am wrong," he replies finally, "but you have a bastard brother, right? On the Wall. He would be more proper for taking revenge."

Suddenly, her hand slips of the table, trembling a little. "I do have… or I did. He's been chosen for a lord commander of Night's Watch, but…" She hears in her own voice rush, caused by anger and pain. "Jon's been attacked by his brothers. I'm not sure if he is still alive, but I think so..."

"How would you know that?"

Her eyes meet his gaze again.

"I would."

Sansa doesn't know about it, but at this moment Sandor takes a step to his past, to the times when he was the Hound, and remembers the younger she-wolf, being stubborn to check if her mother is still alive, after that bloodbath Freys made. But in the morning, after woking up, she said it doesn't matter, because she is dead. She just looked at him, with her eyes dead, dark. _I know_.

"Don't you remember?" He shakes his head, coming back to present. "I've been fighting for the Lannisters."

"No." There aren't many things she is still sure in this world, but in this case, she certainly knew the truth. "You've always been on your own side. In some points, it came across with their paths. But even when you were in a Kingsguard, most of all, you were up to your life. Deep down, against them, hating them."

"I'm not for the North, either. Or Stannis, if you ask me so." He turns back to the window. "I like being here, little bird. Do you want to take away from me some joy I found in this place?"

She just looks at him, kind of amazed. _He called me little bird_. Just like very old times.

"Once, you told me the world is built by the killers." When he agrees, confused, she asks, "Do you still believe it?"

"I do. That's why I don't want to come back." He drinks from his cup. "I like to think that I'm… over it."

For a while, her eyes get darker. "Kings and queens, no matter how hard they would try, even in the most noble case, will end up as slayers, won't they?"

Sandor looks at her, like he sees her for the first time this day. "They have blood on their hands, aye. Do you, queen in the North?"

Sansa thinks about that cold night, when she was still Alayne Stone, in her beautiful wedding dress. "Clean your hands. Whatever you do, make sure your hands are clear." That was what he told her. She remembers, sleeves drowned in red, sound of knees knocking the ground, pale face still in a shock, cold steel of the knife. Stars were the only witnesses of what happened on that bridge.

But now, Alayne is dead, just like the wedding dress. Both useless.

"Queen in the North doesn't," she answers after a long time. "At least, not yet. And she would like to spare that much blood as it's possible. However…"

"However, they are some people whose blood should stain the ground. Boltons. Freys." A shadow comes through his lips. "Am I right?"

She stands up. "This war isn't a personal cruciate to take revenge, not anymore, although people think about it like this. Taking back their castles, killing some lions… Like it matters now! Winter is upon us, and I look further than just now." Her eyes turn blue again. "Much further," she repeats.

"Isn't that the thinking that brought your brother to an early death? Here and now, it all that matters, because tomorrow can never come."

She is next to the doors, and gives him last look. "For my own luck, I'm not Robb. If you'd change your mind, we'll be out here for two days. If the weather lets us. Goodbye, Sandor."

…

This morning is clear, cold, but the sky remains white as a fresh snow that felt yesterday. Sansa is free of doubts, even if her people are not. She goes for a walk, alone, politely refusing ser Yohn's offer to accompany her. Some things you have to do by yourself, only.

She sees him from far away already, standing and looking at this thin border between the Quiet Isle and rest of the world. Sandor nods and leaves the place that was his "home" for a past year.

_He is doing it for you_, a voice in her head says.

Maybe. Or maybe for himself.

_You really think so_?

She doesn't.

"I see you decided."

He looks at her, answers, "It seems." Suddenly, she hears him laughing. "Do your people know that I will possibly travel with them?"

"They do. And there shouldn't be problems with it." Seeing his doubts, she sighs. "None of us is a saint." She comes to him, closer. "But before we'll go…"

Her feet fall in the snow, but then she is able to stand up on the tips of her toes. Sansa touches his face and kisses him. Sandor's lips are cold and numb, just like hers, but unlike earlier, this kiss doesn't taste blood and smoke. It's like warmth of hope and clear water.

When she steps back, a heat goes through her veins. She smiles and looks back, gives him time to process what just happened.

"A long time ago, you took a kiss from me, along with a song. Today I gave you one." Wind goes through her hair. "I'm glad to have you on my side, Sandor."

His eyes are kind of brighter than two days ago. "Aye. So are we going to start this re-taking, little bird?"

Now, she nods and replies, "It's about time."


End file.
